


The Rest Is Noise

by vials



Category: Cloud Atlas - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, it's pretty cute in some places and also Frobisher is a little shit, mentions/discussion of dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 14:36:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8536918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vials/pseuds/vials
Summary: Life can be exceptionally unfair to Frobisher, and while Sixsmith has learned that there's rarely anything he can do about it, it won't stop him from trying.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is based before we meet Frobisher and Sixsmith in the movie, using background and character information from the novel (the main things being the university thing and the fact that Frobisher is confirmed in the novel to sleep with people for money and favours).

The sound of the music was pleasant as always, but haltingly so. To the untrained ear, Sixsmith thought that it could be interpreted as a matter of thoughtfulness; as though the musician were in the middle of creating something brand new and was doing so with thoughtful steps. Only Sixsmith knew this was a piece that Frobisher had been playing for some time, and that he had all but completed. No, it was clear as day that something was troubling him, and, like always, Sixsmith didn’t know if the better thing to do would be to ignore it, or confront it.

The silence stretched on for longer than the previous ones now, and Sixsmith slowed his breathing so as not to be caught listening in. Not that he felt as though he had to sneak around Frobisher, of course, but more because he always needed to know what he was going to say to him. Jumping into conversations unprepared was never a good choice with Frobisher; the man was an expert at quickly dodging questions and evading saying anything of importance. It was frustrating, to say the least, but Sixsmith knew better than to try and force the answers out of him. Frobisher was always looking for something new to redirect whatever was bothering him into; Sixsmith didn’t particularly want to give him that outlet, not when it always ended so unpleasantly.

If he were able to, Sixsmith would have sighed. How wonderful it was to know someone so intense, and how it so often backfired.

The music had stopped completely now, and Sixsmith realised it had been silent for the entire time he had been standing in the doorway. He frowned to himself, wondering if he might have been caught, but he knew Frobisher well enough to know he would have acknowledged the intrusion by now. The room beyond the door was unnaturally quiet; Sixsmith thought the only way it would be possible was if Frobisher was sitting completely still. There was only so long that Sixsmith could pretend that what he was doing was innocent, and finding himself loitering outside of a silent room seemed far too much like that limit. He reached out and opened the door, slowly, to give Frobisher ample warning that he was there, but it seemed as though it hadn’t been needed. 

“How long were you outside for?” Frobisher asked. As Sixsmith had pictured, he was sitting with his back to the door, apparently staring at nothing in particular. Sixsmith briefly thought about lying, but quickly decided against it.

“How did you know?” he asked. Frobisher finally turned, giving him a thin smile.

“Anyone could tell from here.” The smile flashed with the briefest moment of mischief, and then became strained again. “Acoustics. It's impossible to sneak around in this building. Besides, I’ve become rather adept at hearing when people are loitering outside of doors.”

“So you can make a quick exit?” Sixsmith asked, crossing the room towards him.

“I suppose that wouldn’t be incorrect.”

“Well, then I’m very touched that you stayed put.”

“I knew it was you. I recognised your footsteps.”

“I suppose I should have known. You never are surprised to see me come into a room.” Sixsmith pulled a chair closer and sat down, staring at Frobisher for a moment. “What’s wrong?” he eventually asked, when the silence only stretched on. Frobisher rarely found himself with nothing to say. His silence was always unnerving.

“What makes you think something is wrong?” Frobisher asked immediately, and Sixsmith gave him a smile which could almost pass as fond, if it wasn’t for the sadness he could feel tinging it.

“Do I really have to answer that question, Robert?”

“Yes, you do.” Frobisher’s look was defiant, his chin tilted up slightly. “You can’t just make accusations like that.”

“It was an accusation?”

“You know what I mean. You can’t just suppose people’s moods like that.”

“Well, that’s worded very differently.”

“Stop being difficult.”

Sixsmith couldn’t help but laugh softly at the irony. He would never quite get used to Frobisher having the audacity to call _him_ difficult, but it was something he should be used to by now. Frobisher had always tried to deflect such qualities on others when he knew he was the one guilty of them.

“Alright, I’ll be fair with you,” Sixsmith said, the smile still playing at his lips. “Usually you get rather engrossed with your music, and I admit that while taking a sneaky listen, I noticed that you seemed rather distracted. For something to distract you from playing… I supposed it must be rather serious.”

“And what makes you think it’s negative?” Frobisher asked, still staring defiantly, and Sixsmith finally sighed.

“Well, if it was good, I rather hope you’d tell me without prompting.”

The fight seemed to go out of Frobisher then, and Sixsmith felt an unpleasant twisting in his gut. He sat patiently, though the suspense was killing him – things never went slightly wrong with Frobisher. It was either going wonderfully, or it was a catastrophe.

“Robert?” he prompted, when the other man remained silent.

“It’s not really all that much to worry about,” Frobisher said suddenly, almost dismissively. “I’ve probably just been letting it get out of proportion. Setbacks happen. It’s not as though it’s the first one I’ve ever had, and I doubt it will be the last. No matter.”

“You still haven’t told me what’s wrong,” Sixsmith said, and Frobisher can an awkward shrug, now more interested in staring at the piano in front of him rather than over at Sixsmith.

“I have to leave Cambridge,” he said simply, and Sixsmith blinked at him.

“Leave Cambridge?” he repeated. “What do you mean? The college, or the town?”

Frobisher gave a humourless snort. “The college, Sixsmith. I haven’t been thrown out of the entire city.”

“Well, I never know with you,” Sixsmith said, an attempt at humour that didn’t quite break through the heaviness in the air. “Why?” he asked, when it became clear that he was going to have to wrestle the story out of Frobisher. 

“Money,” Frobisher said simply. “It’s always money, isn’t it?”

“It’s never stopped you before,” Sixsmith said. “You’ve always found something, or if you need me to I can help –”

“It doesn’t matter,” Frobisher said, and there was a hint of anger to his voice now. “I’ve decided academia isn’t for me, anyway. I don’t see what I can learn here that I can’t learn through experience. Alright, maybe I might learn it a little quicker here, but to be honest with you I’ve found myself rather bored as of late. No, I think a change of scenery might be just what I need.”

Despite the fact that he knew Frobisher well, Sixsmith didn’t think he needed that knowledge to understand that Frobisher wasn’t exactly committed to his words.

“I see,” Sixsmith said, and Frobisher’s reaction immediately proved him right.

“You see? What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded. “There’s no need to sound so _dismissive_ , Sixsmith, honestly, anyone would think—”

“That I thought you weren’t being entirely honest in that conviction?” Sixsmith interrupted. “Well, they’d be right.”

For the briefest of moments, Frobisher seemed at a loss for words – something which Sixsmith didn’t fail to take note of, despite the seriousness of the situation. He could count on one hand the amount of times Frobisher had been completely speechless. He quickly recovered.

“It’s just expected. That’s all,” Frobisher said, waving a hand. “I didn’t exactly plan for this, and I did actually invest a lot of effort into my time here, contrary to what some people would believe. Music is a difficult field to break into, and I was hoping for some more time to build up contacts. This is a slight inconvenience.”

“You’ll think of something,” Sixsmith told him. “You always do, even if it’s not entirely conventional.”

“I shouldn’t have to!” Frobisher finally burst out, slamming his fists down on the piano’s keys with a discordant thud. “I shouldn’t have to! I’m fed up of it, Sixsmith. I’m fed up of all of it!” He hit at the keys again. “I’m fed up of people going back on things they’ve promised to do, I’m fed up of people dangling things in front of me and then withdrawing them as soon as I don’t adhere to their every word. I’m fed up of people demanding things but never giving me the same right, and I’m fed up of constantly being inconvenienced because other people take offense to the slightest thing or think that I’m simply not _good_ enough. I’m fed up!”

He slammed his fists down one final time before reaching up and roughly pulling the lid down over the keys; he was on his feet before Sixsmith had finished processing all of his words, and it took Sixsmith until halfway down the hallway before he caught up to him.

“Robert,” he said, but Frobisher didn’t speak, just quickened his pace. Unfortunately for him, Sixsmith was quite a bit taller; he kept up easily. “Robert!” he said, more firmly, and Frobisher rewarded him with a brief glance.

“What?” he asked, and for a moment his lip curled so cruelly that Sixsmith found himself momentarily taken aback. He seemed to realise it himself, because Sixsmith detected a note of guilt on his face before he forced his features to harden again.

“Let me help you,” Sixsmith said. “There has to be something.”

“Money isn’t going to fix this.”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

“Christ, Frobisher, what did you _do_?” Sixsmith asked, and Frobisher shot him another glare.

“Why do you always assume it’s something _I’ve_ done?” he demanded, and Sixsmith raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh, don’t look at me like that!”

“The only way I’m going to be able to help is if you tell me the truth,” Sixsmith said simply. “And I know you, Robert. You’re not half as innocent as you like to make yourself out to be.”

“Alright, then, maybe it has something to do with creditors.”

“I thought you said money couldn’t fix this!”

“It can’t,” Frobisher said, pausing slightly in his quick pace to stare at him. “Not this time.”

He turned quickly and headed down a side alley, cutting between two buildings and into a courtyard. Sixsmith paused for a moment to digest that information, and then quickly caught up to him again.

“Why not?”

“Because I left it too late, alright?” Frobisher said loudly. A group studying on the grass glanced up at them; Sixsmith gave them an apologetic smile and pulled Frobisher by the wrist, away from the group and towards the opposite side of the courtyard.

“What do you mean, left it too late? You ignored a final warning?”

“Yes, I ignored a final warning. I didn’t have the money. I would have had it, if they waited, but the whole mess went up higher than it usually does and the college doesn’t want to deal with me anymore.” Frobisher huffed. “I suppose I had that one coming.”

“Well, you can’t involve yourself in as much scandal as you do and expect people to want to keep you around, Robert,” Sixsmith said, and Frobisher snorted.

“What scandal do I involve myself in? I hardly involve myself in scandal _here_. I think I’m rather well-behaved.”

“Well, aside from all the unwanted opinion sharing, the drunkenness, the _numerous_ love affairs—”

“None of which detract from my studies or my talent,” Frobisher interrupted. “Can you get to the point, Sixsmith?”

“That was my point,” Sixsmith said. “You can’t expect people to do you favours when you put them through hell. And don’t look at me like that. I know what you’re like.”

“Yes, I suppose you do,” Frobisher said, sighing. “In that case, I have to wonder why you’re still here. Most people are fed up of me by now.”

“I find you very endearing,” Sixsmith said. “And I’m never at a loss for entertainment. Now, are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”

“No. Like I said, I think a change of scenery will do me good. I don’t need a degree in this to know that I have talent, and I think I would be better saving my money elsewhere. I’ll have to make a brief and sorry return to the Frobishery, but “brief” and “sorry” is how I usually arrive, so nothing to worry about there.”

“You’re going back?” Sixsmith asked, as they headed out of the courtyard, towards Frobisher’s rooms. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Well, I hardly have a choice, do I? I’ll write, Sixsmith, there’s no need to look so utterly dejected. I have to go back, anyway. My father has a few more books that would sell for good money, and I’m sure my mother and sisters won’t miss any of that hideous jewellery. I need the money far more than they do, seems they’re always so reluctant to part with it anyway.”

“Frobisher,” Sixsmith groaned.

“Save the lecture, Sixsmith. I haven’t been caught yet.”

“You have.”

“They couldn’t prove it.”

They stepped into the hallway and headed up the stairs, the porter sleeping with his hat pulled down over his eyes. Frobisher unlocked his door with far more aggression than usual; the room inside was in disarray, the objects and clothing all in the process of being packed up.

“I’ll need your help with a train,” Frobisher admitted, throwing some things off the bed. “I don’t have enough money for a ticket. I can pay you back once I’ve liberated some of the library.”

“You don’t have to pay me back,” Sixsmith said, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching Frobisher poking at a few loose items. It was the politest way he knew to acknowledge that he understood and was alright with the fact that he would never see a penny given to Frobisher ever again.

“If you insist,” Frobisher said, tossing a few books into an open case, and Sixsmith smiled fondly. The smile didn’t last, as another thought chased it from his mind.

“I suppose you’re leaving tonight, then?” he asked, feeling suddenly heavy.

“No sense waiting around, is there?” Frobisher asked. “Besides, I wouldn’t put it past them to let everyone know that I’m on my way out. I don’t want to have anyone else showing up and demanding money I don’t have. I imagine it would get slightly unpleasant. Best to give them the slip, I say.”

“That’s a shame,” Sixsmith said, trying to keep his voice lighter than he felt. “It would have been nice to say a proper goodbye.”

“I won’t be gone for long, Sixsmith. Just until I can line my pockets a bit. Then I’m sure you’ll be sick of me.”

“I could never be sick of you,” Sixsmith said, and there must have been a note of sincerity evident in his voice because Frobisher looked at him for a moment, his face twisting between expressions like he didn’t quite believe him. Sixsmith watched him back, his eyes lingering for a moment on Frobisher’s before a shadow caught his attention at the man’s collar; looking directly at it, he saw a tell-tale red and purple splotch there, and he looked at Frobisher properly again, half amused, half exasperated. 

“One final hurrah, was it?” he asked, and Frobisher gave him his usual shameless smirk, except this time it wasn’t his usual look, and it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and for some reason Sixsmith felt suddenly uncomfortable.

“Robert?”

“It’s nothing,” Frobisher said, a little too quickly, and Sixsmith frowned. “A poor choice, really, but that’s probably on me. You know how I get sometimes. If I dwelled on _all_ the people I probably shouldn’t have slept with, I would never have time for anything else.”

“Robert,” Sixsmith said again, and it was clear to him that Frobisher was not going to cooperate given half the choice. Sixsmith didn’t give him any choice, instead standing to block his path and gently pushing his collar down to see the mark fully. It wasn’t the only on there; there were others, snaking down his collarbone and vanishing past the limit that Sixsmith could push his collar aside. 

“It’s nothing,” Frobisher repeated, and Sixsmith raised an eyebrow.

“It doesn’t look like nothing, and you’ve never exactly been secretive about these conquests before,” Sixsmith told him. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“I’m not hurt,” Frobisher said, again too quickly. “Well, there are some scratches. A few bruises. Maybe a bite or two. He was a little _rough_ , if I’m honest, but I suppose it’s all fun at the time.”

“And was it?”

“Was what?”

“Was it fun at the time?”

Frobisher looked at him for a moment, his face again flickering oddly between expressions. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he eventually said, and Sixsmith finally let some of his frustration boil over.

“I think it _does_ matter!” he said. “Robert, if someone’s assaulted you –”

“Oh, and what would I do?” Frobisher snapped. “Go and report him, have us both thrown in prison for sodomy and debauchery and whatever else they can find? I wasn’t assaulted, anyhow. It wasn’t like that.”

“It certainly looks like that.”

“This isn’t the part I’m upset about.”

“Oh, so you _are_ upset.”

“Of course I’m upset! We had a bloody arrangement. I don’t just sleep with people of his sort for the good of my own health, Sixsmith.”

Sixsmith groaned, everything finally falling into place. “He was waiving the bills, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, he was,” Frobisher said shortly. “Until they apparently got to be so much that his bosses started getting on to him, but he doesn’t tell me this, does he? No, he fucks me one last time and makes it bloody good for himself because he knows that’s the last time he’s going to see me, only he tells me this as he’s throwing me out the door right afterwards. Why do I even bloody bother?”

Frobisher turned back to his desk, snatching up the last of the textbooks. He made as though he were going to throw them in with the rest of his things, and then he paused, looking at them before suddenly and abruptly throwing them across the room. They slammed against the door and then thudded to the ground, louder than Sixsmith would have expected, and Frobisher stared at them for a moment before looking back at Sixsmith, breathing heavily.

“I don’t know why I’m packing them. It’s not like I need them anymore, is it?”

His lashes were wet, Sixsmith noticed. For a moment he was at a loss as to what to do, and then he did the only thing he could. He reached out, gently tugging Frobisher closer, and it seemed to be all the invitation he needed; Frobisher collapsed against him, his arms tightly around him, his hands twisted into claws at the back of Sixsmith’s jacket. Sixsmith could feel him shaking, hear his breaths hitching. He said nothing.

Eventually Frobisher’s shaking slowed and finally stopped, his breathing evening out. When they finally pulled apart, his cheeks were damp, his eyes red, but still Sixsmith didn’t mention anything. 

“You could sell them,” he said, and Frobisher looked at him, dragging the back of his hand across his eyes.

“Sell what?” he asked, sniffing.

“The text books. They’re expensive. I bet you could make something from them.”

Frobisher stared at him for a moment, and then looked slowly over at the books on the ground beside the door. He gave a thin smile.

“I suppose I could,” he said. “See, Sixsmith? That’s why I need you around.”

Sixsmith smiled as well, and Frobisher went to the books, picking them up carefully now as though he felt bad for their earlier treatment. He dropped them into his case one by one, staring at them again.

“I’m sorry, Robert,” Sixsmith said quietly, so Frobisher could ignore it if he chose to do so. Sixsmith didn’t even know what he was apologising for, exactly – having to leave college, how he had been treated, the fact that he was in that situation to begin with. Maybe all of it. 

Frobisher turned to him, and Sixsmith was relieved to see his smile was genuine, even if it was a strange contrast to the evidence of tears still covering the rest of his face.

“Don’t be. Fresh start, and all that. One you exhaust all of your options in one place, it’s only natural to move on.”

“Of course,” Sixsmith said, returning the smile. 

Frobisher crossed the small distance between them, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips, and as always, Sixsmith found himself wishing they had more time. He didn’t think they would ever have enough time. 

“You’ll be careful?” Sixsmith asked, when they had broken apart.

“I’m always careful,” Frobisher replied, still smiling, and Sixsmith had a lot he could say to that. He settled for kissing him again instead.


End file.
